The castle walls; a dim outline against a clouded sky. Ebony on charcoal, clouded by miasma, obscured from prying eyes. Kagura could feel Naraku's dank stench enveloping her, as she approached steadily closer. Grimy, sweaty, covered in blood, her ornate kimono shredded, pierced by branches, studded with twigs and leaves, nevertheless, Kagura cut an imposing figure. Muscles as strong as carbon steel, smoothed only by her deceptively soft curves. Her eyes blazed fury, while cold determination etched itself in every limb. Her arms wrapped tightly around a limp white bundle; white with seeping red. You could have made a statue of her. Made it out of ice, and named it Sorrow. For Kanna, For herself, even for Kikyo, and all the other lives twisted and warped by Naraku's existence, Onigumo included.
Sorrow. Hah! Kagura's lips twisted in a sardonic sneer. Who had time for such niceties? Not her, not now. Would her time ever come? Who cared?
Bracing herself for Naraku's displeasure, Kagura kicked open the thick wooden doors leading into the keep. There were no guards to open them for her, nor any sort of human presence now -- unless you counted the lingering traces of blood splashed carelessly across the walls. Unsurprisingly enough, Naraku had not come up to greet her. Probably felt it was beneath his dignity to grace her return with his presence. Or perhaps he simply intended to make her crawl for his forgiveness. No matter. Kagura would do whatever she had to. Whatever it took to survive.
Deliberately, Kagura paced down the darkened hallway-- what need had she for light, with her demon eyesight? Down the stairs, and down again. The dungeons, Naraku's second favorite lair, losing only to the throne room in preference. And there he was, lounging in deceptive tranquility against the dank stone wall. Dark eyes flashed with rage as he took in Kagura's appearance, the body in her arms.
"What happened?" His miasma may have given him a sense of the battle, but lacking Kanna's mirror, or other witnesses, he couldn't know the details.
"Kikyo." Kagura let the despised name drip like venom from her icy lips.
Naraku's sudden stillness betrayed his shock. Kagura winced at his loss of composure-- for that never boded well for her own future.
"Tell Me."
Kagura steeled herself, drew up her frame like a soldier at a debriefing, and phrased her words ever so carefully. The truth, and nothing but the truth. Mostly. But not the whole truth. Not for him.
"Kikyo. She was waiting outside your territory; scouting, perhaps for that bastard hanyou and his band. I sniffed her out after my reconnaissance. Went to take a look. I didn't know she had a shard. I descended, confronted her. She shot me. I didn't die." Naraku knew quite well that she couldn't die unless he allowed her to. "But I was weakened. I thought it best to retreat and inform you of this development I didn't make it. I lost consciousness for a long time. When I recovered, I felt a call. I followed it. I found Kanna, dead. Her mirror shattered. This was in her throat." Almost casually, Kagura held out a bloody arrow. A holy arrow-- a relic, that she, a demon, should not have been able to touch, much less carry on her person. At the very least, it should be wracking her with holy fire, singeing her soul down to its very roots. But it was not. And Yet. . . Naraku could feel, even from across the room, the purity pulsating from the innocuous-seeming shaft.
"Destroy that!" He commanded sharply. Who knew what powers that arrow might possess to wound him?
"I can't" Kagura shrugged. "It's Kikyo's. I had one like it . . . almost. . . in my chest. Why did that one burn me, but not this one? I thought it might be important." Important. Oh yes. That it was. But She was quite sure Naraku didn't realize just how important it was.
The Truth and nothing but the truth . . . But not the whole truth. Indeed.
The truth; that as she'd turned away from Kikyo, turned with Kanna in her arms; turned to give Kikyo a clear shot at her back; turned towards her doom, she'd been called back.
"Wait." Was it a command or a plea? Hard to tell with the walking corpse. At first, Kagura had not wanted to-- for what could the priestess possibly have to say to her now that she'd killed her sister? Kagura'd taken one step further, and then another before she'd faltered. Curiosity winning over hatred. She'd turned then, a lofted eyebrow the only sign of inquiry she would permit herself.
"You want Naraku dead."
Kagura's gaze remained level, a small tightening around her eyes and mouth indicating assent -- if one wanted to read that far into it. After all, Kagura had to be careful. Here on the edge of Naraku's domain who knew what spies he'd have reporting back to him? What strange perceptions and suspicions his miasma might convey?
Kikyo regarded the wind demoness silently for a long moment, eyes as hard as marble, and as expressionless. She must've seen something she liked there, for eventually, her features softened in understanding, and she gave a curt nod. "We have much in common."
"What?" Kagura sneered, her hatred for the dead miko roiling sullenly to the surface, "We're both miserable failures? We're both derelict in our duty? Spare me, please. I have work to do."
"But no life to live."
"At least I'm not a spiritual perversion." Why she was wasting breath arguing with a sworn enemy, she hadn't the slightest idea.
"Really?" Kikyo arched a skeptical eyebrow, "What, exactly, do you think Naraku is? And you, a child of his flesh. . ." The implication was obvious. Sins of the fathers, and all that.
"And whose fault is that?" And back around to the same old hatred, "I'd kill you in a second, if I thought that would undo his existence; I'd sell my soul to see him dead."
"Ahh." Almost a silent sigh. Kikyo's lips curved in the barest hint of a smile. The sigh was obviously meant to be heard -- the dead do not breathe, the dead do not need to sigh.
"What?!" Kagura's patience was running short, her temper gone, with her sister's body cold in her arms, the killer mere paces away.
"Your soul. . ." softly, like a cool silk caress, like a promise sheathed in steel
"What about it, bitch? I haven't got time for your mind games! If you want something from me, you godsdamned better well spit it out. You think I want to be talking to you? You disgust me. You stink of the grave. Unless you plan to attack me, you're wasting my time, and yours."
"Not a waste of time." Kikyo's voice hardened suddenly, her eyes flashing to life. "So I made a mistakes. I was only human after all. You think I didn't suffer in hell for my dereliction? Hah. You don't know what pain is. But I will rectify my errors, I will purge the world of Naraku. And you're going to help me."
"What makes you so sure?" Kagura tensed at the change in Kikyo's tone, sinking into a defensive posture as best she could, burdened with her sister's body. There was a threat there, of that she was sure.
"Because," Kikyo smiled thinly, "If you don't, you'll never get your heart back. You'll wander the earth like me, unable to die, unable to truly live." The worst fate she could imagine.
"Eh." Kagura shrugged. How was that any worse than what she had now. But curiosity still propelled her forward, "And what do you propose?"
"What do you know about souls?" the priestess shot back.
Not much. She was a demon, what did they care for souls? Did she even have one? Hell if she knew.
"Well then. . ." Apparently, souls were a complex business. More so in Kagura's case. Naraku was an anomaly among creatures, a fusion of multitudinous souls in one protoplasmic body. Kagura and Naraku's other offspring were created by the fusion and confusion, the recombination, even, of some of these souls -- a traumatic event culminating in their forced expulsion from his body. But. . . A link remained. A fractured soul had a link to its other fragment -- an affinity, if you will. Kikyo would know-- after all, she could feel a pulsing in what passed for her soul when Kagome was near, flashes of pain or fear, sometimes even joy when those emotions ran strongest in her reincarnation. All in all, an alien intrusion into her current numbed existence. That of course, was not the important issue for Kagura -- no, for her what mattered, was that the soul-link could be used as a weapon. A weapon that Kikyo knew how to exploit.
A weapon for which she needed Kagura.
But first.
"Why are you telling me this?" Kagura had the right to be suspicious.
"To right a wrong." It was what mikos were supposed to do.
"Not good enough."
To be honest, even Kikyo herself wasn't sure why she was confiding in one of her bitterest enemies. But there it was, she felt sympathy for Kagura, felt almost a kinship for her plight. Not that the demoness wanted or needed her pity. So, an answer, truth, but not the only truth.
"To kill Naraku-- I'll use whatever tools I have to." Steely determination. "And that's you."
Kagura nodded. That sort of callous manipulation, she could understand.
The plan went forward.
The arrow embedded in Kanna's throat, enspelled. A decoy for Naraku's paranoia. Its importance not in itself, but in the other ploys it concealed.
---
"Destroy it." Naraku's command
"I can't" Kagura's sullen reply.
What could he do about it? That shaft was purified by Kikyo, coated in mud from Onigumo's cave. If he were to touch it, it would seek his center, purify him out of existence. But how could Kagura touch it? And why wasn't she destroyed? Naraku wanted answers. And he wanted them now.
Fortunately, he knew just how to get them.
Naraku licked his lips in anticipation.
Kagura shivered. But not in fear. For she could no longer feel fear.
She had sold her soul.
Ok, perhaps -- Given it away -- was more accurate.
Without a soul, you cannot feel fear. You cannot feel much of anything at all.
And without a soul to purify, Holy arrows can do no harm.
But how was Naraku to know that?
Kagura shivered. Not in fear, but in Anticipation.TBC.
--- holy hell, has it been a year since I updated this? I'm such a loser. Writing fantasy is not my forte, or my main interest. Thank you all for reviewing despite my lameness. I don't deserve your praise. Especially you, Sheen. If I could blush, I'd be scarlet after reading your reviews!! Thanks so much. I'm truly honored by your words -- I mean, so much that I actually wrote a chapter after I saw all those reviews the other night. Sorry, there's less character, more 'plot', but I gotta do plot sometime. Even if it is stupidly short.
So here's my irrelevantly terrible gift to those who are actually reading this fic. Ever wonder what the good guys are up to while this story is taking place? Well, wonder no longer. . . .
White Bread
(Or, what the good guys are up to tonight)
A comedy
"Too white bread!"
"You think? But with those indecent skirts and all?"
"Sign of childishness. A Woman should know better."
". . .But the view?"
"Is great."
" . . . and when you carry her?"
"Feh, what do you think, Monk? The wench is built!"
". . .ahh, my friend. Sometimes I do envy you."
"Feh! It's all look but don't touch, well, except for the carrying thing. And you think, if you did get under her skirt, she'd be exciting, passionate maybe? You're so fucking full of it. Stick to Sango. That's my advice."
"But. . ."
"Come off it, Monk, you and I both know, Kagome in the sack would be about as exciting as a sack of mud. And then, she'd probably go pout about it. I fucking hate the pouting! Like everything's my fault! Who the fuck raised her? Show some fucking personal responsibility, I say. You want something. you gotta go out and get it, 'stead of being little miss perfect passive-aggressive goody two shoes all the fucking time."
"All right, all right already, just calm down a bit." Miroku hesitated, but couldn't resist his next question, despite the risk that Inuyasha might tear him to shreds, "What about Kikyo?"
"There's just no comparison." Inuyasha perked up at the seeming change of subject. "Kikyo is. . Kikyo is. . She's like ice, you know, perfect and pure and sharp and deadly. She's direct, she doesn't fool around. God I love that bitch."
Miroku raised an eyebrow, "But a miko? Not too pure for you? Too what was it you called Kagome -- White bread?" (Miroku had only had white bread one time, a special treat from Kagome's time. It had, indeed, been spongy and bland.)
"Feh! you're a Buddhist monk. What's that got to do with anything? Holy power is holy power. 'S got nothing to do with Fucking!"
"Ah."
"Don't give me that look."
"What look?"
"That Look, All innocent and 'I don't know what the fuck you're talking about' That look."
"You wound me, Inuyasha."
"Yeah, I'll fucking show you wounding." He raised gleaming claws, a not so subtle threat. "You know just as well as I, that Spirituality is just another skill. Some are born with ability, others learn it."
"That was surprisingly articulate."
"Fuck, Monk. Who the hell do you think I am?"
"A bad-mannered Hanyou?" Miroku teased, backing away rapidly, nevertheless.
"Bastard." Inuyasha bared his fangs, but without real rancor.
"No that's you."
"Feh. Still had an education. Lord's son and all."
"You don't act like it."
"Fifty years stuck to a tree, and you expect me to be in a good mood?"
"So all the surliness-- You've just been sulking?"
"Why not?"
"Indeed." Miroku pondered for a moment, "My friend, you need to get laid."
"This is news?"
"Ahh.. . ." A soft sigh of revelation, "Not just sulking, Horny and sulking."
"Feh. Kagome."
"And all the looky no touchy."
"Fucking Hell." A frustrating Tease.
"Kikyo."
"Hello . . . Dead? The dead don't fuck."
"Sango?"
"Feh. No good. She likes to be on top."
"So true." Miroku smiled contentedly at his own memories-- just the way he liked it. "Shippo?"
"Too young."
"Picky, Picky"
"Feh! You'd fuck anything."
"Except Kagome."
"Hell, you'd screw her if she 'd let you."
Miroku shrugged in self deprecation. "So would you."
"Feh. So? You gonna find me a whore, or are we gonna fuck.?"
"We're going to fuck."
"About fucking time."
"Mmmm." An appreciative sigh, soon replaced by the sounds of flesh on flesh, gasps and grunts.
Several Prolonged climaxes later.
"No White bread that." Still hard and firm and ready for more.
"Maybe we should get Sango over here after all."
"Feh. Get back here. I'm not fucking done fucking you."
50 years of pent-up demon sexual frustration to relieve. Miroku groaned; not entirely in exasperation.
It was gonna be a long, hard night.
But then again, he'd choose a hot dog between his buns, over white bread any day.
.End.
---God that was bad. I just had to write it. And being written, to post it somewhere. So very very sorry-----cm---